You Make Me Weak
by Falling Star37
Summary: The only mindset John Harrison knew was that of a tyrant, a churning mind, a psychopath. On his journey for revenge, he happened upon a child. Not brilliant, nor a perfect specimen. But a little girl who awoke within him feelings that no-one could have predicted.
1. Chapter 1

**Spoilers spoilers spoilers. Set before the events of 'Into Darkness'. Don't own anything except O.C. **

She looked up into his clear blue eyes and reached out to stroke his face. This, this John, who lifted her up from the ground where she was crying. Blooming bruises rose across her skin. The man who was but a stranger's fingers danced across her skin, checking for god knows what, she had no idea. Resting finally on her stomach, he took a sharp intake of breath as he traced over the cut, fresh and barely scabbed.

"Did your father do this to you?"

She paused, and with a small nod of her head sealed her fate forever.

Dancing flames appeared in his eyes. Gently, he placed her on a bench and draped his coat around her. The black material was thin but sturdy, and she felt a rush of warmth that calmed her down a bit. Crouching down, he took her face firmly in his hands.

"It will be alright."

A wave of fatigue fell over her. She closed her eyes for a moment, curling farther into the jacket. When she opened them, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Don't own, not mine, except O.C.**

Opening her eyes for a second time, she found herself surrounded by chaos. People were screaming around her, running in every direction, mindless in their panic. She smelled fire and gasoline puncturing the air.

Rolling upwards, she rubbed her face and peered through the crowds. Off in the distance, a flaming mass was tied to the top of a flagpole. It was only when she cleared her eyes that she saw it to be a burning man. Firemen tried to douse the flames from land and air, but whatever he was covered in was only worsened by water. His cries turned into shrill shrieks, winding down into a high-pitched whistle. A moment later, he stopped abruptly and screamed no more. Before she could catch another glance, the crowd surged forward and the burnt corpse was blocked from sight.

She was all alone. Nothing came near her; all were focused on the spectacle nearby. Peace and being alone were all she needed at this moment. Despite her pity for the man on fire, she couldn't help but be a bit grateful for the massive silence that surrounded her, a rare glimpse of what this public space could be.

She dusted off the jacket she was still swathed in, and stood up. Plucking a petal off a nearby tree, she scattered it to the wind and offered a small prayer of sympathy to the man's loved ones. With that she turned around and walked, step by step, towards home. Or whatever home meant anymore.

**Interpret what you will. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Don't own anything except O.C.**

With the stench of burnt meat still fresh in her memory, she plodded up the steps to the apartment she shared with her father. Money was scarce, and the building was so old that there wasn't even a normal elevator, just a chunk of metal that made her feel trapped and imprisoned. So, despite the lengthy climb, she always took the stairs.

Tripping onto the top floor, she halted and took a quiet step back. The door was ajar. Her father was many things, but careless was not one of them. If anything he was paranoid, and the door was always kept firmly bolted. But not today.

Taking a deep breath, she wrapped the coat around her like a blanket from her infancy, and crept towards the door. A quick tap swung the door open, and she was greeted with the sight of an absolutely ransacked apartment.

Everything belonging to her father was smashed. Pictures of him, his chair, all were destroyed. The carpet was pulled out from under the couch, and the knife with which her father spent so much of his time was embedded in the wall right next to wear he usually sat.

Yet it was only when she saw the blood did she begin to scream.

Before she could take another breath, a cloth was shoved against her nose and the world began to spin. She felt her legs fall out from under her, and just as she felt her consciousness fade she could feel lithe, strong arms grasping her gently.

When she woke, the most curious feeling swept her body. The bed she was lying in didn't seem right, nor did the light, and her head throbbed from whatever was on that cloth. Pushing herself up on one side, she peered around the room. She saw plain grey walls, a simple bed, a side table and a light switch. No other electronics. Everything was at once completely mundane yet with an air of wealth nonetheless.

She turned around on her back and shrieked. The kind man, John, was sitting in a corner of the room, quiet, staring at her with his deep blue eyes. She was at once intrigued, terrified, and…safe.

Before she could say something coherent, she burst out "I'm sorry about your jacket. I didn't mean to get it stained, I promise."

He only stared.

"You aren't going to hurt me" she muttered instinctively.

A wry smile crossed his face, and he stood to loom over her.

"No my dear" he said in his deep, regal voice. "I will do nothing of the sort."

She paused.

"Why am I here? Did you save me?"

He paused, and then chuckled.

"In a sense, yes."

A soft smile spread across her face, and she reached out a hand to touch his cheek, so small against his looming frame.

"Thank you John, thank you. But please, tell me. Why do you care what happens to me?"

He rubbed his face and for the first time since she'd met him looked utterly perplexed.

"To be honest, my dear, I haven't the slightest idea."


	4. Chapter 4

**Don't own anything except O.C.**

It had been ten hours since she woke up in the strange bed. She had slept on and off, her body burning through the toxin in her system. In that time John had reappeared at random intervals, bringing soup and water when she drifted into consciousness. Barely ten words were spoken between the two of them.

She knew that this situation was crazy, and that any other person would be having thoughts of "kidnapping" or "hostage". Yet she knew this was not the case. For one, she had nothing to be kidnapped from. Her only family was her father, and he showed his feelings with old-fashioned violence. She would rather be on the streets than live with that man any longer, and John provided a warm, albeit imposing, alternative.

In addition, she felt truly safe with John. He was nothing but kind to her, if not a bit scary at times. He put out an air of security that she had not felt for a long time.

Stretching her arms above her head, she rolled out of bed (still clinging to the jacket) and walked around the room. Finding nothing of interest, she tiptoed out into the hallway, down the corridor and into the general living space. There was a single chair and table, with a com screen set up on one wall. Tapping it gently, she sat in the chair and watched as a horror played out on screen.

It was turned to a news network, and they were covering the man she saw burning on the flagpole. Cameras had captured the incident, and you could see the man's face contorted into one of terror. A face that was much too familiar.

Before her brain could process any more, she ran to the disposal and began to dry heave.

Her father. The man she hid from all her life. He had hurt her for such a long time, but the idea of him dying like this. Being burned at the stake, like they did centuries ago. It was barbaric, sadistic, and calculated. This was meant to terrify people and make the final moments of her father's life one of shame and agony.

Just as she was reaching to turn off the com, the door slammed shut behind her. She turned to find John staring down, holding a large duffel and wearing a brand new coat. In the fading light, he looked like a god.

At this point she wouldn't have been shocked to find that to be true. But for this moment, he was simply a friend who was standing there and he was warm and real and she needed that. So she sprinted towards him and buried her face in his coat, squeezing him tightly around the waist. Hesitantly, he placed his hand on her hair and let her hold him, just the two of them standing still.

After a minute he pulled away and took her hand, guiding her back to the room and laying her down on the bed. Out of the duffel he pulled equipment that looked like it had come straight out of a starship medbay. She looked at him with big eyes.

"Where did you get this?"

He didn't answer, focused solely on his task of threading the needle with snakelike precision. Extending his hand, he looked at her briefly.

"Bite down hard."

She did as he said, and almost smashed the bone in her pain as he neatly sewed up the still open cut on her stomach. Yet when she finally let go, the finger looked untouched. Before she could bring it up, he had packed up the duffel and was standing up. Reaching, she grabbed his coat and tugged on it briefly. When he glanced around, she took a deep breath, and muttered.

"So about what happened earlier..."


	5. Chapter 5

**Don't own anything except O.C.**

He smirked.

"And why would that be?"

She felt like slamming her head on the table. Here she was trying to apologize and he was being a butt-face. She wondered if she was remembering what happened correctly. She had received a few blows to the head in the last couple days...

_7 Days Ago_

How she ended up in the atrium of the archives, she had no idea. Yes, reading had always appealed to her, but the information here was that of starships, galaxies, and species unknown. But it was better than home, so she decided to peek inside and see if there was anything interesting.

Quietly tiptoeing down an aisle, she tapped a screen and grinned eagerly as a hologram popped up. No one was around, and the peace was intoxicating as she sat down to read.

All of a sudden, the sound of giggles filled the room. It was supposed to be a quiet space, but that didn't seem to stop the deep murmurs coming from a husky, feminine voice. The words being said were quite similar to the phrases uttered by her father in one of his 'dreams', and preferring to not be witness to shenanigans, she crouched behind a pillar and squatted down to wait it out.

The voices, while hushed, grew steadily louder, and she began to catch glimpses of conversation. A deep male voice seemed to be the real charmer, but if one listened carefully they could note that his questions were pointed. This was not a man interested in sex; he was asking about information.

The woman was completely smitten. She was making little grunts and squeals and complimenting his body, his intelligence, and his charisma. It was all so ridiculous that she was close to bursting into giggles, but she managed to restrain herself.

Until the woman started making odd squeaking noises.

At this, she couldn't help herself. The woman sounded like a desperate bird pecking for worms, and before she could stop herself she burst out laughing. The voices stopped, and when she peeked around the columns, the two adults were staring at her. The woman was pressed awkwardly against the guy, fully naked, while he was completely dressed. The woman looked like she could kill her, while the man almost seemed…amused. That couldn't be right.

"What are YOU laughing at?" the woman hissed.

Before she could stop herself, the words came out.

"You. Did you hear yourself?"

The woman's eyes flared.

"You impertinent little creep. John, please have her thrown out."

But the man did not move.

"John! Please darling, get this girl to go away."

The strange man turned a withering stare towards the woman.

"If anything, you should leave."

He gave a sly grin.

"She does have a point you know. The noises that came out of you sounded like the words of a dying Klingon."

Steam seemed to pour from the woman's ears. Without a word, she tugged up her uniform and stalked out. The man turned back towards the girl, still giggling in the corner, fighting to catch her breath. She stopped abruptly, for the first time feeling a bit afraid. This man was tightly coiled, and his eyes flickered up and down, analyzing her and her motivations. She knew it was serious situation, but she couldn't help it. The image of his expression was still fresh in her mind. Which is why, in front of this terrifying man, she burst out laughing, doubling over as giggles shook her body. He seemed astounded. She doubted anyone had ever laughed at him before.

Without warning, a smile spread across his face. His muscles relaxed, and a booming laugh came out of him as well. She knew just by hearing it that it was a rare occurrence. The two of them laughed and laughed in the middle of the archives, sharing a moment that would not come again…

Back in the present, the girl was still smacking her head against the table. John began chuckling, and she rose up in anger.

"Don't you laugh at me! It was disgusting and despite the hilarity I can never look at you with a straight face when remembering it.

He shrugged.

"While the actual procedure was a bit revolting, it served its purpose, and that was the intended goal. Now, go to sleep."

With that he stood and began walking towards the door. A grin spread across her face. Just before he passed the entryway, she turned on her side and let out a squawk.

"Ohhhh John. Oh. OHH."

All it took was a quick blow to the head with a pillow to knock her out cold.

**Filler chapters will end soon, swear. Thought Khan needed a bit of comedic relief.**

**For all intents and purposes, the girl is 13. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Don't own anything but O.C.**

When she woke up, she was crying.

Whether it was from a very likely concussion or a flighty sleep, her thoughts had constructed a whole new realm of nightmares. Family that she never had, friends she had once known, all were dancing around her and coming near her and holding her close before vanishing off into an abyss. No matter how much she begged, or tried to hold on, they always slipped through her fingers.

Then her father came. Mean and drunk as ever on Dresci. He stumbled and grasped at her with wild abandon, smacking her around a bit.

In the dream, just as she was about to quietly fall down, a man in black pulled her father away. But instead of letting him go or shoving him off, the scene changed. It was that of the inside of a starship, something she had only seen in pictures. The man shoved her father against the wall, and with two hands began to press against his skull. Before she could scream she heard the crunch and crack of breaking bone, and saw her father, broken and bleeding, collapse to the floor.

It was at that instant that she woke up. Whether the tears were from relief or terror, she didn't know, but they came down all the same and as they mingled on her cheeks she suspected that they were a bit of both. That made her cry even harder, knowing what a horrible person she must be to feel relief at witnessing such a horrible death.

Almost blindly, she wandered out of bed, wrapped John's coat around her shoulders, and stumbled out of the room, feeling her way along the walls until she came to a locked door. Banging on it halfheartedly, she collapsed against it until John swiftly pulled the door open, and peered down at her with a combination of concern and annoyance.

She mumbled quietly to him.

"John, I had a bad dream. I don't know what to do. Can you help me please?"

Considering the fact that young children were obviously not his forte, John looked perplexed. After a few moments, he snapped to attention and lifted her up.

"Warm milk should do it."

He quickly paced out of the room. She turned around, still clutching the coat, and saw the most beautiful sight she had ever beheld. A perfect, fluffy, simple yet inviting…bed.

And so it was that when John came back with a glass of milk she lay passed out and eagle-spread across the bed, leaving no space for any other occupant. Not wanting to give up her plot of bed, she snored softly, and heard the slightest hint of a chuckle from John before he left the room.

Just as she was about to fade into a restful sleep, she heard a fragment of words from the hallway.

"I'm aware the operation is complete. Yes, continue it as such. Never question me again admiral. No, not now."

His voice became firm and cold.

"Something has come up unexpectedly. A new variable. I need more time."

**Thank you to my wonderful readers and everyone who has reviewed/followed this story. Sorry for the time gap, expect updates soon. Happy summer everyone**!


	7. Chapter 7

**Don't own Star Trek, in any form or universe. O.C. is my own. **

Admiral Marcus was a patient man. He had spent years of his later career assembling what would result in a war against the Klingon species. Redistributing resources, gathering loyal men, and assembling the USS _Vengeance. _But patience only went so far, and only applied in instances of absolute necessity. Harrison taking his sweet time with the final stages of his plan was not a necessity. So when the man, if you could call him that, called demanding more time with the smug condescension of an old war criminal, Marcus snapped.

"Listen, you piece of shit. I have spent years on this endeavor. The _Vengeance _is complete, the crew prepared, and we have weapons that the puny masses could scarcely dream of. I needed you once, but if you make me cross that can easily change, and our deal along with it."

There was a brief silence on the com, and the Admiral heard a brief chuckle.

"My dear commander, we both know that I am a needed ally within your grand scheme."

"Indeed John. And yet you know what isn't necessary? Your crew."

A lengthy pause hung in the air for five minutes, ending only with a deep breath from Harrison.

"You will get what you want by tomorrow. Do not even consider destroying what is mine." A moment later the transmission was cancelled.

Marcus smiled. For in the mind of a general, what are a few lives in comparison to the greater good?

When she woke, the sun was fading into dusk. Tendrils of orange danced across John's bed, rousing her for a moment. Turning on her back, she saw John sitting in a corner, capping a vial of something that looked suspiciously like blood. She scrunched her eyes shut, slowing her breathing until it was a faint whisper against the bedsheets. John let out a deep breath and rose to his feet. With his mouth closed, when the air came out it almost sounded like his nose was whistling. The idea of John doing something as incredibly mundane as whistling made her crack a grin and giggle. A dark shadow loomed over her, and she scrunched her eyes tightly, still not willing to give up her space on his bed. He let out a light laugh and pulled the blanket more fully tightly over her.

"My dear, if there's one thing you should have figured out by now, it's that nothing gets past me. Now go back to sleep. There's food in the kitchen, I'll be gone for a while. No bad dreams, agreed?"

She smiled and nodded.

"No bad dreams."

**Thanks to all who have read/reviewed/followed/favorited this story, each one of you makes me smile. Expect next update soon. **


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